


the hunt for red october

by lambient



Category: In the Heart of the Sea (2015)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, In the heart of the sea - Freeform, M/M, Other, WO, i am legit drowning, molby dick, omg what is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambient/pseuds/lambient
Summary: After being first mate for four years George Pollard is finally of the proper age, and social standing to captain a ship. With that comes an arranged marriage to a stranger.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> wow, okay this is wild. Prepare for the worst.

“Good day to you, Mr. Pollard.” I am sixteen, and this man, who despite being so much older than me is wealthy and he has a good name. There’s not much you need to know about someone in this day and age, just as long as they are to have a good name. He is to be my husband. 

I am luckier than most girls, some are married off before ever turning fourteen. Because I am equally wealthy and had been born into a family of good social standing I was given a man by all intents and purposes perfect. He is the captain of a ship and there isn’t much higher an honor than that. At least not in Nantucket I am rather lucky, aren’t I?

But I am a woman, and what good is a woman for other than producing children and being an obedient housewife? This is the life I was born into, and I play my part as best I can. I long, so terribly and greatly for an adventure though. I doubt I should ever fine one. 

My mother would say this is my adventure, this man. She claims she loves my father, but I know she didn’t choose to marry him. If she had the choice she would have married someone else, I know it. But we aren’t given choice anymore. At least not us ladies. 

“And to you, Miss Price.” His voice is rough, and harder than I thought it would be. But I don’t know what I expected. George Pollard didn’t look exceptionally caring, in fact he looked far from it. But his jaw line was sharp and contrasted nicely to the neatly tamed curls of his hair. He wasn’t particularly handsome, and I fear with as many years of marriage as my parents I would grow so terribly bored of him. 

“You are here why?” I ask, it is inappropriate for him to be here. For him to even be in the same room as me without a chaperone. Especially considering we are to be married. My parents must trust him a great deal, I don’t suppose he should be long for he hasn’t taken off his coat. I don’t think I will offer him any tea, I don’t want him to stay. 

“I am leaving soon after our wedding, as you know I am the captain of a ship, The Essex. I thought you deserved to know as we are to be married.” How boring his voice is, how boring and proper and I can hardly stand to hear it. If I weren’t a lady I would scoff, but as it were I am a lady and thus scoffing is inappropriate. 

“You mean to leave me, barely a woman, so soon after our wedding?” I don’t think I care too much if he were to leave me, but I should be awfully lonely.

“If you wish to be crass about it, then yes. And we will be departing as it is, a week after our wedding should take place.” His eyes narrow and I know he isn’t pleased with me, and as his future wife it is solely my duty to please him at whatever costs. I know he is thinking I am to be a bad wife. And perhaps I am. I should hardly care though. 

“What if you are to be lost as sea? You would have me, barely a wife, widowed in her first two years of marriage?” I am being impolite, for even suggesting this. But it’s important to me to know what he thinks. 

“Perhaps, but I assure you madam I am very good at what I do.” His teeth are gritted and I relish in how easy it is to frustrate this man. I think it might be a record. But I am not to boast about something so trite. It is rude and impolite and how ugly it is on a woman to be rude and impolite to a man.   
“What if I am not assured?” I ask and it is now I stand from my spot on the love seat I had occupied the duration of his visit and walk to the window. It is large and I can see a great deal of the town from here but most importantly, I can see the ocean. The ocean where adventures take place, the ocean in which I will never get to see. 

“Then I should hardly think it my fault, I told you and if you will not listen to me I can do no more for you.” His voice is low and I know he’s angry. If it is so easy to anger a man of his stature I can see why he has not been married yet. He doesn’t like me, he finds my insubordination maddening, I can tell. 

“Tell me Mr. Pollard, how many men can your ship hold?” I don’t know anything about ships, that’s a man’s line of work. I know how to cook and how to embroider and all of the things a woman should know. 

“Thirty or so.” He says caught unaware, it wasn’t completely off topic but it was such a dark contrast from my prodding at him that he couldn’t help but be surprised. 

“Fascinating, how many women can your ship hold?” I ask and I am determined to know, he can laugh at me all he like but it’s not fair I should never get an adventure but he should. We would be equal if I were a man, but I am a woman and thus I am his inferior. I don’t think it’s fair. 

“What in god’s name are you proposing?” He asked wildly baffled, I finally turn around to face him and it’s quite interesting to see his eyes so wide and his face devoid of the angry wrinkles he bore only moments ago. Not so boring after all. 

“Why, I want to come with you.” I state simply. It couldn’t be unheard of, I know it’s not proper but it sounds like an adventure. I have just as much right to be on that ship as he does. 

“Are you mad?” He barks and I flinch from his harsh tone, he’s almost as angry as my father. Almost as angry and it is in the few seconds between the time it takes my father’s voice to raise and his hand to connect with my face that I am turning back around. I must remind myself Mr. George Pollard and my father are two different men entirely. 

“I’ll have you know I’m quite sane. Why should it be such a wild notion that I wish to come with you?” I whisper, if he tells me no I will leave it alone. I will leave it alone because I am not allowed to challenge my husband, and if he remembers who he is and who I am who’s to say he shouldn’t hit me. That’s what men did when they got mad, when you were talking too loud or too much. When you really didn’t belong in the conversation in the first place because you were weak and a woman. 

“Because it will be a ship full of men, it’s not easy work you know. You’ll probably ruin your dresses. The ocean is wild and cares not if you are a woman. It’s damning and no place for someone as fragile as you.” His voice is softer, I don’t know why. I don’t know why because I am being so difficult. He doesn’t even sound angry anymore, just like he’s trying to reason with a child. Which is what I am, isn’t it? 

“Tell me I can’t go, tell me now that I am forever to be stuck in a beautiful house full of beautiful things. To be a trophy of which you can return to as you please, but in turn leave as you please. Tell me this is it for me, that this is the end of my life and I will never find the adventure I so ardently seek. Tell me now and I will forever drop it and be as obedient as ever.” I try to tell myself I won’t cry, not in front of him. Not in front of this man who is my future but simultaneously the end to it. The end to all things good because he is who I am to answer to now. 

“Would you be content staying here? Waiting for my return as you should? If you are I will take you to the sea in the future, I will take you and we will stay for as long as you wish.” He’s so much closer than he was minutes before, he’s standing behind me and it’s almost as if he is trying to compromise. 

“Would you be content with that?” I turn back to face him and he is so much closer than I thought he would be, so much closer that I feel the heat radiating from him and his eyebrows are knight together lowered in thought. Not as boring as I thought.

“No, I don’t think I would.” He sighs, it is in this I know he wishes he could grant my request. If things were different maybe he would have, but as it is, and as it were a woman can’t go on a ship with thirty or so men when she is barely sixteen even if she is married. I know this, I know this deep in my bones but I wish it weren’t the truth so badly.

“There you have your answer, sir.” I sigh and turn back around, the world outside is moving, always moving. The people going about their day as they would always have. Children playing on the cobblestone below, ships sailing from the port, sailing to find an adventure, that of which I should never get to experience. He doesn’t say anything and for a long moment it’s pure silence, I can feel his breath on my shoulder and his gaze on my back. 

“Could you imagine what it would be like? Staying at home every day, alone, waiting for your husband to come home to you. He’s been gone so long and it’s so much colder because of it. Can you imagine looking out at the same sea everyday but never getting to touch it. Because it’s improper, because what would have been your birthright if you were born a man isn’t yours to take anymore.” I whisper, a stray tear finding its way down my cheek. 

“I believe Mr. Pollard that you should leave. But I implore you to think on the suggestion I have made.” I say this time finally meeting his eyes with my own, his eyes which aren’t brown or dull but open wide and never ending. Eyes the color of trees who have lived forever. 

“It just isn’t possible Miss Price. Please forgive me.” He utters his voice low and resonating throughout the entire room and I can hardly believe I once thought it boring. It is in this truth that I am resigned to my fate. My fate of never being content with the life I have and resenting him every moment because he gets to experience what I won’t. 

I refuse to look at him, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that I needed this. Needed it so desperately and he is here telling me everything I can’t have. I don’t think I’ve ever been told no before. 

“Good day to you then, I wish you a fulfilling evening.” He backs away, swallows hard and then lowers his head. I nod my head in return but I won’t curtesy. Not to this man. Not to any man ever again.

He leaves and I collapse back onto the loveseat. I don’t let the tears escape me, how unbecoming it would be to cry at being told no for the first time in my life. Mother comes in almost instantaneously and suddenly I feel embarrassed. Mother was content with her life as a housewife, with her life raising me. I should be as well. 

“Oh darling, you mustn’t be discouraged. He isn’t so bad.” She whispers soothingly and rubs my back in gentle forgiving motions and I wish instantly I was a child again and that this gesture would calm me as it once did. 

“For god’s sake Anne, you coddle her so. Leave her be. If she doesn’t like him, oh well, she’ll learn to like him or that very least learn to live with him. Life isn’t about adventures and happily ever after’s. It’s about surviving. Stop crying, it’s quite pathetic.” My father spits his ugly face twisted into a grimace as he looks at me. His pathetic little daughter. His sole child, the one he couldn’t love because I wasn’t a man. 

My mother does as she says and I vow never to be like this with George, never to obey him when my child needs me so desperately. I don’t care if I should ever love him or if he should ever love me. I don’t care if I should never see the ocean. But I will not be controlled. Not like this.


	2. Chapter 2

There isn’t much room for a garden here, not as grand as one I’d like anyways. There’s a small pathway that leads beyond beautiful flowers most of them imported or bought from farmers. It’s quite lovely and I find solace in the delicious smells. 

It has been three nights since Mr. Pollard had spoken to me. It’s so weird isn’t it, how you can go from never knowing someone your entire life to your survival being solely dependent on theirs. Because that’s what it boils down to in the end. My prosperity relies solely on him and his ability to provide for me. 

The more I think about him the more tired of his face I become, and the low tenor of his voice and how it rattles inside of me and still hasn’t left even though he has. I am to be married in four days and then he shall leave seven days after. What a wondrous wedding present. 

“Do you care much for the flowers Miss Price?” It’s so soft and gentle for a moment I’m sure I’ve imagined it. That his voice has snuck so far into my subconscious that I am imagining him to be here even if he isn’t. But I whip around only to find that he is indeed here and he’s holding flowers. Flowers so exotic and pretty, ones I’ve never seen before. I fight the urge to smile, my father has never given my mother flowers. 

“I care very much indeed Mr. Pollard.” I close the gap between us but only just. I don’t know how or why my mother let him into the garden unsupervised. My father would be livid but my mother knows the importance of this gesture so I think she doesn’t mind. Impropriety be damned. 

“For you. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’ve said. How much I would detest it if I were to have been born a woman. I fear you are much brave than I ever will be.” He holds the flowers up, probably a peace treaty of some sort but I can hardly bring myself to care. He is trying to flatter me and I won’t have it. 

“Well lucky for you, you were born a man. Why are you really here Mr. Pollard?” I ask gingerly and with as much snark as I can muster before taking the flowers from him. They really are pretty but I must prove to him I won’t be seduced by vibrant colors. 

“Listen, I understand these circumstances are less than desirable for you but truly I’m trying and you’re acting like a child.” His voice is rough and angry again, as it once was before but this time so much more and I don’t care. 

“Well, perhaps that’s because I am a child. Sixteen, what were you doing at sixteen Mr. Pollard? Sailing no doubt. I’ve never even left home.” I bit back and I am offended at how rude he’s being to me, nevermind that I’ve started it by being so nasty to him.

“We were raised very differently Miss Price. But these are the circumstances you were given and you just have to deal with it.” His voice was harsh and I know I’ve spoiled his good mood. I don’t care though, I may seem like a child throwing a tantrum but I just don’t care. 

“Fine. I trust you can find the way out yourself?” I spit out just as angry and seething as him, oh how terrible it would be for someone to see me like this. So… unladylike. 

I turn my back on him and I fear that this gesture doesn’t hold as much spite as I wish it to, I can’t think about him anymore. I leave him there no longer finding solace in the beautiful garden with his stupid beautiful flowers in my hand. I want so badly to throw them on the ground and leave them there, so horridly. But I won’t, that’s a line not even I would cross. 

I don’t look to see if he’s gone, I don’t care one way or another. Let him stand there agape and alone all he like. He feels no remorse for me and he’s not even trying to understand my situation. I have no idea how I am going to manage being the wife of a man so insufferable. As my father said I am just going to have to learn to live with it but oh how terrible I feel. 

\--

“Finally, some use for you.” My father’s voice is low but it fills the entire room, fills my head and sits there. Finally, some use for you. I know this is the only way I can benefit my family, my fortune. By marrying even richer. 

I am getting married today. My mother is looking at me as if she already misses me and my father, my father so eager to get his hands on the money he’ll receive. How all of this, everything I’ve ever done was for my father who always wanted more. Always took more than I could give. 

I know I look pretty in my dress, my mother and I spent hours with the seamstress. More money than I’ve ever spent on a dress before, but what’s it matter in the grand scheme of things? This would be nothing now, it already was nothing. George and I’s parents spent a fortune on the wedding, our mothers collaborating to make sure it’s perfect. Perfect for their little angels. Their little angels who don’t want to get married, who don’t even like each other, who’ve never even had a civil conversation.

I am exactly who I am supposed to be, this is exactly what I was meant for. In a few hours, I would have fulfilled my destiny and reached the highest point in my life, at least until I am to find a successful match for a child of my own. Then I will be useful, but now, now this is it. 

I am standing on a cliff, and this is the precipice now and forever after this I will be no longer useful. At least not until he decides he wants children, even if I don’t want them. From now on everything I do will be for him. Whatever he says goes, and I will be just a mind controlled sheep as my mother as. As my future daughter shall be. Because this is what we are now. Playing a game that never ends, that just loops. A game in which no one wins. 

My mother is crying and it irritates me. I know it shouldn’t, I know that she doesn’t have a choice. Just as I will no longer have a choice. My father decided who I should marry and when, nevermind the fact that I’m still a child. Still a child that throws tantrums in gardens when she doesn’t get her way. 

This will be a formal affair, not many will be present. It’s not a joyous occasion spurred on by love and happiness, it is a business meeting. A contract in which my parents sign my life away and consign me to a miserable existence as any. 

\--

The wedding is over, it went in a blur. We were married and that was that. I wasn’t allowed to eat anything though; my mother didn’t want me to ruin my dress even though I am certain it wouldn’t matter. That this is the only time I will ever wear it. At least if I’m lucky, as long as George comes back to me. 

Which leads me to think, what if he doesn’t? What if he dies and I am no longer a wife. No longer exactly what I was supposed to be, the one job, the one time I could be of use for my father and I lost my husband to the sea. There would be worse ways to die I suppose. 

George looked nice, as nice as any man ever did at a wedding. Not as grand as me though, that would be an insult to my mother and her seamstress. A waste of all her efforts and money. He refused to look me in the eyes, which in some ways hurt more than any insult he could hurl at me. I know I brought this upon myself with my terrible temper. 

But even now I can’t help but wonder if this is what our union is to be like, so cold and empty because we are so different but exactly the same. When he kissed me, because that’s what our contract was sealed with, a kiss. It felt weird, not like I thought it would. 

The novels filled my heads with fantasies and fairytales that were never meant to be, when he kissed me it just felt like skin and I suppose that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Like nothing. But then it dawned on me that this was real now, that this was the end and I had just sealed my fate so easily. 

\--

I wasn’t entirely nervous until tonight, until I remembered we’d have to consummate our marriage. How could we do this when he barely even looked at me? Would he expect this of me? What if I did it wrong, my mother never prepared me for this. Oh, how I wish I could go to her now, but tonight it would just be me and my husband. At least until he leaves for a year. Or longer. 

After the ceremony and less than heartfelt goodbyes we were taken to our new home, one bought and prepared specifically for this night. The one we’d live in for the rest of our lives. It was particularly nice but I expected nothing less, he was a captain and I was a lady. We came from wealthy families and we both had distinguished names. To have anything less would be an insult to both of us. 

It wasn’t as large as my parents’ home but I didn’t mind. It was easy to get lost, and feel lonely there. Especially now that George would be leaving me to set sail on The Essex in only a week. As far as things go it was lovely, I could see myself living here. 

None of my clothes were brought with me, I had to leave everything behind. I was a child then, now I am a woman. Everything I have will be completely new. Expensive curtains lined each window and the wallpaper was a beautiful flower print, exotic in the way I knew them to be. All the throw pillows on either love seat and ottoman were embroidered expertly. Far better than I could ever do. 

Everything in this house was of the very finest quality and quite expensive, it was beautiful but it was full of fragile things. None of them mine, I don’t know if I should ever see this place as my home. I know I must try, I have been doing a horrid job of trying. I’ve been acting as if I was raised with no manners, if my parents ever found out they would be disgraced. 

\--

Our bedroom was lit solely by two lamps on either side of the bed. It was rather plain compared to the other rooms but exquisite none the less. I had already dressed in my nightgown and my hair was brushed, not a single tangle. Just as my mother had taught me. In every sense of the word I was perfect, the perfect young bride. With only one job to fulfill before I should be considered a real and proper woman. 

The moment I had been anticipating with fear and curiosity came much sooner than I thought it would but everything these past few days have been a whirlwind. A blur and it’s so disorienting to think just a week ago I was a young girl never having known the name George Pollard and what it would do to me. My worrying was all for naught, however. For my new husband barely even looked at me. How pathetic I must have looked too. 

He climbed into our bed and rolled over, rolled over as if I weren’t even there and this was just another night. Another in which he wasn’t married and we were still separate. But as it were we would never be separate again. It was made quite clear to me that he had no intentions of addressing me in any sort of manner. I was so confused, this wasn’t what I expected. 

I had heard stories of men taking their wives forcefully solely to get the consummation over with, or even just because they had wanted to. Because their wives were theirs now and who’s to say they shouldn’t be rough with them. My mother had told me the entire time she was in horrendous pain, and that she’d wanted to die. She spoke of how little my father had comforted her. For a long while I feared this would that this is how it would be for me, but as it is my husband won’t even look at me. If anyone were to ever know I would be so violently shamed. 

The one use my father could conjure for me and I couldn’t even fulfil it properly. Oh, how terrible I felt in that moment. I know I had been horribly nasty to this man, that I had done nothing to warrant his attention or affection. But I could not help it, I was so furious. I can never control my temper and how wrong everything turned out!

“Mr. Pollard.” I choked out, but quickly amended with, “George, do you not think I’m pretty?” How small I felt in this moment leading up to his answer. Surely, he didn’t find me disgusting, right? I wasn’t so horrid to look at, was I? My whole life I had been considered agreeable. Oh, how terrible it would be to be despised by your husband. 

He let out an annoyed sigh, as if I were a burden or an insolent child. He seemed frustrated as if he shouldn’t have had to explain this to me. But what did he expect? I was so ill prepared for this, how can he find no sympathy for me? 

“I find your beauty quite exceptional, and in that I find nothing to be lacking in your person.” It was so monotonous, so much so that it seemed rehearsed. As if he had practiced for this moment and I felt my heart sink. If this is what he is to think of me then why should he be acting in such a cold manner. Surely, he couldn’t still be upset with me from the other day in the garden. Even if he were it would be warranted, wouldn’t it? Oh, I always do this! I get so carried away, and I throw the worst tantrums. How little he must think of me. 

“Then why…?” I trailed off feeling even worse than before, so much so. I couldn’t even say the words, nor did I even know what question I was trying to ask. I worry so terribly for what reason he has for not touching me, and what he shall say to me. None of it will be kind, I feel it in the hollows of my bones. He means to say something terrible to me and I can only wait. 

“I find you exceptional in countenance and so lovely of face, but I have no desire to lie with you in the manner a husband lies with a wife. Considering you truly are but a child, and even though you should have the face of angel you do not have the personality of one. In that I fear I cannot bring myself to even think about touching you.” His voice isn’t rough, and he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to hurt my feelings. I think he’s telling the truth, so blandly that he should have no emotion what so ever. 

“Is this truly what you think of me?” Oh, what agony it is to not be wanted by even your husband. To be called a child, how humiliated I am!

“Quite.” He sounds so tired, and so just done with me. I feel so horrendous, I can’t handle being in the same room as him any longer. I wish I could feel anything but hollowness but I can’t, I can’t feel sympathy for him because he seems so tired and he probably deserves to rest but I can’t feel anything but pure rage. 

I’ve never heard of my parents sleeping in different rooms and I doubt it’s proper but this man won’t even consummate our marriage and there is nothing proper about that so I’ve quite given up. I doubt I’ll need to bring anything so I slowly slip out of the bed, tears falling down my eyes, tears I can’t even feel because I am so intent on making him sorry for how terrible he’s treated me. 

“And where, may I ask, are you going?” George, no Mr. Pollard asks. I refuse to call him George, that is a name of affection for someone I should care about. But as it stands I can feel nothing but contempt for this dreaded man. This dreaded man who can feel nothing for nobody but himself. 

“Excuse me, sir. But as it is I fear you have offended me so deeply I can’t wish to stay here any longer, so I will be sleeping in a guest room since you abhor me so much you can hardly look at me.” My voice is wobbly but strong enough, it doesn’t crack and I hope he can’t tell I’ve been crying. It’s so dark in here, I don’t want him to know how truly childlike I am. 

The beds in the guest room aren’t nearly as soft as I wish they were, at least not as soft as Mr. Pollards and I’s bed. That I do regret leaving but I should hardly miss it when such a dreadful creature is sleeping beneath the sheets. 

\--

I have a hard time sleeping so I’m thankful to see the early signs of dawn filter in through the windows, everything feels so weird. I am no closer to being a woman than I was two weeks ago, I’m just in a new house with a husband who feels nothing but the grayest of contempt for me. We have maids that would usually cook breakfast for us but they aren’t to arrive until tomorrow, so it is up to me to cook for Mr. Pollard and myself. 

Even though I have never cooked a meal for myself I know how to cook, it was important schooling. At least by my mother’s standards. I knew what I was doing, at least I hoped I did. With last night’s embarrassment so fresh in my mind I would hate to have him be proven right about me. I want to show him I’m not a child, and that I’m not so terrible. That I can be pretty in face and in heart. But everything feels so hopeless and a much bigger part of me wishes to do nothing. To let him starve because of how terrible he was to me. 

I know I can’t do that though. I am supposed to be a good wife and god knows what would happen if Mr. Pollard took to complaining about his incompetent housewife. Another embarrassment added to the ever-growing list. Oh, how deeply saddened I am that this is to be my life now. 

Nevertheless, I have a job to do, it’s quite early so I’m sure I have plenty of time to cook before Mr. Pollard awakens. Perhaps I could eat without him and spend the rest of the day practicing embroidery, or working on the garden. But I know it would be improper to eat so early just to insure I should not have to speak to him. At the very least it’s immature. 

It doesn’t take me long before I have a simple English breakfast prepared, it’s much harder work than I’m used to and I fear I’ve made too much. But I did my very best and if he is to hate it then so be it, he can add it the list of things he should find displeasing of me. It’s quite a growing list, isn’t it?

Just as I finished preparing two plates as perfectly plated as I could make them I see Mr. Pollard waltz into the kitchen, he is perfectly made up just as I expected him to be. Just as I am. As if last night’s episode never even happened in the first place. His eyes widen as he takes in the state of the kitchen, it was quite messy to be fair. But I had tried so hard and I fear he won’t see that. Just the mess I made.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. I promise.” I state simply and bring the plates I had filled with food in what I hoped to be a pleasing manner to the perfect mahogany table, carved and beautiful just like everything in this stupid perfect house. He takes a seat at the head of the table where I’d set his plate, I take my seat beside him. 

For a minute there is silence, perfect and profound that sits so low in the air I feel sick for a moment. Is this to always be our routine. I suppose it wouldn’t be since he’s leaving so soon. We are still strangers, and we’ll still be strangers when he leaves. When he comes back I’ll be waiting by the docks, of course I’ll be waiting, but I won’t I fear so horridly that he might not return. I won’t feel a hollow ache if he is to be gone forever, because I don’t know him. I should think I might never know him. 

After an absurdly long amount of time spent looking at his food and picking at it with his fork I worry that something is wrong, because he still hasn’t tried it. Maybe it’s not good enough, maybe I am not what I thought I was and truly I am good at nothing. Not smart enough to exist without a husband, not even adequate to make a meal for my husband, and most importantly not even a good enough wife. 

“Is there something dissatisfactory with your breakfast?” I ask stiffly, I still don’t forgive him but I am willing to prove that I am not such a bad wife after all. That I could be good, good enough for him if he just let me be. 

“Well, what are you playing it?” He quips accusatorily, and I’m taken aback by his harsh tone. I don’t know why, I’ve heard him angry far more than I’ve ever heard him content. All my fault of course. 

“Excuse me, sir, but I have no clue as to what you mean.” I bark out in I admit somewhat a shrill manner but I don’t like what he’s insinuating, I have no right to be accused like this. Sure, it’s my duty to cook for him but I very well didn’t have to. 

“I guess I’m just skeptical, why you have been so obliged to as to have cooked breakfast after our slight altercation.” He clears his throat in an uncomfortable manner, I don’t feel as terrible as I thought I would at his words. At least about him bringing up last night, partially because I have already thought so much about it I just feel numb. However, I am not immune enough not to blush furiously at his comment. 

“Mr. Pollard, do you mean to say I might have done something to your breakfast?” I choke out and for some reason this is so funny to me, oh how it all makes sense now. He thinks I’m trying to poison him, I should be offended or insulted. No woman of any social standings wants to be accused of trying to poison her husband. But I don’t feel any of that, I laugh so loudly and for such a long time I have a difficult time breathing afterwards. 

I will admit it is ungraceful and I look nothing like a lady but I can’t help it, I don’t even know what I found so funny about it but at the time all I could do was laugh. And his face, he looked so startled to hear such a disgusting man-like noise come out of his small innocent little wife. But it doesn’t take long before he’s chuckling along with me. 

“You must forgive me, I didn’t mean to laugh at you, it’s just, why would I poison you? What would I benefit from that? Or do you think so little of me that I would do it over something as small as last night?” I know it wasn’t a small thing, and that I still don’t forgive him and that if I could I would make him regret it but I would never go so far as to poison him. Another example of him thinking me a child. 

“I apologize profusely, Miss Price. That was a terribly horrendous assumption for me to have made.” He said quietly, his eyes downcast and his cheeks unusually tinged a slight pink color. How fascinating he looked embarrassed, not entirely so boring. 

“Mrs. Pollard you mean. I am no longer Miss Price, am I?” I respond, even I can feel how quickly my smile fades and how easily the teasing way I addressed him in so casually merely moments ago has faded. He can’t even remember my name, we have the same name now. He is my husband, and we are married but there is no love here. There is nothing here and I feel so hollowed out. I’ve known since I was a child that I would never have the privilege of marrying a man for love. But at least assumed we’d be friends, partners facing the exact same thing together. But now I just feel sad. Sad and alone.

“Forgive me, I have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. Don’t I? Of course, Mrs. Pollard. My wife.” He states once again in that soft voice that I have heard so little of, that makes him seem almost human in a way. Of course, he’s human, but before he’s always been so hard and unreachable, but when he talks like this, like he’s made a mistake I almost feel as if we’re equal. Of course, we aren’t though. We will never be equal. 

“There is nothing to forgive. Now, you should really eat for I fear your breakfast has probably gone cold by now.” I attempt to tell him in as much of a reassuring voice as I can muster but I am so angry at him, so angry because of what he’s said to me and how he’s making me feel. How dare he make me feel sorry, when all he’s done is criticize and belittle me. I know, more than anyone, I know I will never be a good wife but god at least I’m trying. Which is so much more than what he’s doing. 

He nods his head in acknowledgment before taking a hesitant bite, an obvious sign of his distrust for me. Even after all I’ve said he still doesn’t believe me, still doesn’t believe that I am anything but a petty child. A wicked child. I feel so sick at this thought I can no longer sit at this table, with this man pretending to be his perfect little wife. I didn’t eat much but I am not hungry, because I feel so violently ill. 

I want so badly to go out to the garden, not the pathetic excuse of weeds outside of my new home, but the one at my parent’s house. My garden. Yet I know I can’t. I still must clean up the kitchen, I promised him, and I may be furious with him but I am in the business of trying to prove to him I am not who he thinks. 

\--

Once I excused myself and cleaned the kitchen spotless I spent an hour or so working on my embroidery, within that time frame Mr. Pollard came to me and told me he had business to attend at the town hall and not to worry if he isn’t back in for a while. Yeah, like I would worry about him. To be honest I wouldn’t care if he never came back to me. I know immediately that that is a lie, a terrible lie that I shouldn’t ever think. Because I do care, quite deeply. Even if it’s only because my survival is secured solely by his. 

I find myself going through the same daily routine I always went through back home, I spent a certain amount of time reading and then playing at the piano forte. I am not skilled well enough at either so my mother has made me spend countless hours of practicing, and so I continue practicing. The piano was so different from the one back home. 

The piano was my mothers, a wedding gift from my father. Carved from the finest wood of that time and oh how beautifully it played once upon a time, but with age it grew wary. This piano is so new and holds none of the beautiful scratches I had grown to love, grown to find solace in. I can only play for so long before I feel so sick with sadness. 

Embroidering is even different here, oh how fine the silk is. I fear to touch it, I fear I shall ruin it, just like I’ve ruined everything. Just like I’ve ruined Mr. Pollards attempt at any sort of a friendship with my nasty attitude. Oh, how I regret that so deeply, because then maybe I could have a chance at surviving this life. This life with this man who might be my friend. But no, he hates me, as it were. 

I spend as little amount of time as I can reading, not that I don’t enjoy it, I just feel so tired and wary. With not sleeping very well and doing as much work as I’ve ever done in my life I can barely keep my eyes open. How ironic it is isn’t it, that I should be so tired from doing so little work yet I wish to prove so ardently to my new husband that I’m not a spoiled child. That my body is revolting against me, proving to him everything I’m not. 

The day is only half over and how horrid it would be for me to sleep, even though I so desperately wish I could. Instead I go out to the garden hoping to find peace and serenity. I am disheartened when I step out there at first, if only because it’s nothing like I thought it would be. It’s smaller than even my one back home and there are no real flowers planted. No trees, just weeds and dandelions. 

But then I think about everything I can do to it; how beautiful I could make it if only I tried. How good it would feel to create something of my own in this horridly beautiful home that feels nothing like mine. I don’t really know where to start but I know I’m willing to try. Oh, how lovely it would be for Mr. Pollard to leave with such a horrid garden but come back to find it as beautiful as ever. 

For all the lack of beauty this garden holds it has an exquisite stone bench carved so beautifully in the center, looking over a beautiful fountain that in this state looked nothing like it could. Oh, how lovely it could all look with a little bit of love. It is here that I tell myself I will take a small break, and it is here that Mr. Pollard should find me very much asleep. 

\--

“Fiona.” I am roused from my sleeping by a soft voice calling my name, it sounds very distant yet so very close. I feel groggy and imagine how mortified I was to find slobber covering the right side of my cheek, and to be awoken by my husband. Who must think so little of me, so little of me when his precious spoiled little wife lifts the smallest of fingers and falls asleep in the garden. 

“Mr. Pollard, excuse me. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.” I mumbled my eyes widened as I realized my terrible miscalculation. I hurriedly attempted to flatten my hair doing a terrible job fighting the blush creeping up my entire body. How poised and proper he looked compared to his pathetic wife. 

“Are you so tired that you’re falling asleep in the garden?” He asks, not unkindly. Not in the harsh way I’ve grown so accustomed to. A soft question almost as if he should hold concern for my wellbeing. I know better though. 

“I didn’t sleep very well is all, this will not happen again. I assure you.” I whisper not daring to look up into his eyes and see the disapproval I know to be there. I am no closer to proving him I am not a child and worth the attentions of a grown woman by falling asleep outside. How improper and unladylike. Oh, If, anyone were to see me I would be positively mortified. No, I already am mortified. 

“Well that’s no good is it then.” He says and it’s almost as if there is a smile to his words but I wouldn’t dare look at him, not when I have been so disgraceful and probably shamed his name forever. 

“I suppose it isn’t, sir.” I whisper and for some reason I feel as if I might cry, and it is in one horrible moment that I realize that I already am crying. Oh, what a baby. I have no reason to cry, how horridly he must think of me. 

Within one fluid motion I feel my head being lifted ever so gently by his pointer finger, he is so close to me, and I can’t help but look into his beautiful brown eyes that aren’t angry at all. His eyes that are so gentle and look so kind, if only for a moment. With his free hand, he wipes away a few stray tears and I am so embarrassed. 

“Don’t cry, please. There is no reason to cry, truly.” He whispers, and I want to tell him he is wrong, that there are so many reasons to cry but I don’t. Because I am insolent and I must be obedient to him, I must consider him right even if he is wrong. His voice is light and filters through my ears in such a pleasing manner, I almost forget that I hate him, that everything he has done has been an insult to my entire person. 

“How can you say that? How can you say that so confidently when you know nothing of how I feel? I am to be the worst wife in history, quite truly and you shall be leaving me alone in a few days and I shall never be able to prove to you I am not so horrid after all. How pathetic and trite you must think of me!” I cry this time making no attempt to hold the tears back. I am so embarrassed especially to be crying so freely in front of my husband, but I know not what to do. So, I sit there as he stares me down, his gaze dark in contrast to the light tone of his voice mere moments ago. 

“What I think of you is of my own opinion and nothing to do with your person. Surely you must know that.” He says so assuredly that I almost believe him, but how can I when I know this to be false. If I know that what his opinion is all the matters now. That his entire opinion is the only reflect on my person? 

“Well I don’t, because as it were your opinion is the only thing that should ever matter to me and if it’s so poor how am I to live with myself?” I whine, and I know it’s unladylike and improper and something only a child would do but I am a child aren’t I. Still a girl, a husband doesn’t make me a woman. It barely makes me a wife. Everything’s so confusing and I am no different than I was but I must be, I must be different for him, for my husband who is leaving me. Who thinks so poorly of me he thought I tried to poison him. 

“Perhaps, I was mistaken in saying those cruel words to you. Perhaps it is not your heart that is ugly, but mine. Perhaps I was wrong.” He says his words so soft, his voice so soothing, but his eyes so conflicted. As if he were at war, at war with his entire body. I am comforted but only just by his words, his apology means everything to me, as it should. But I fear he is only saying this to sedate me, that it is because I am so childish that he must lie to me. That is the last thing I wish. 

“You mustn’t say that. As your wife, it is never my job to challenge you, or to question you. You will be right, always. Because you are my superior and I your subordinate. That is how marriage works and I will do well to remember that, to remember my place.” At some point, I stop speaking my own words and begin speaking my mothers, who has ingrained them so deeply into the depths of my brain I hardly know anything else. 

“This may not have been an ideal match, it may not have even been a good match. But it’s what we have, and I swear to you, upon my honor and title if I am wrong I will say so. We will be equals, for I am your husband and you are my wife. My dear Mrs. Pollard.” He promises and I start crying again, or maybe I never stopped and so it’s just me still crying. 

I don’t know what to say to him, how ineloquent I feel. Always so many words but never the right combination of them nor is it the right time. He is so much kinder than I ever thought him to be and I don’t know if this makes me feel worse for all my terrible thoughts or not. Part of me is wondering if he’s lying to me, if it could be possible when only just last night he had been so cruel to me. Cruel to me in only a way he could be. 

“Please don’t cry. It’s now late evening and you must be hungry, I’ll make you something.” He whispers and before I can protest he sweeps me up into his arms and I feel like a toddler, being coddled. My father would scoff at this blatant show of affection. 

He carries me to our room and gently lays me down on our bed, true to his word he brings me some food back. How surprised I am at his ability to cook, for that is a woman’s job. Not a man’s, even more so I’m surprised he’s letting me eat in bed. Even my mother, the kinder of my two parents would never have let me eat in my bed. No matter how hard I cried. How bizarre it is, this new place. This new home, with this new man who is now my husband. 

“Eat as much as you can, I have a surprise for you when you’re done.” He says in that same kind and gentle voice he’d been using during the duration of the afternoon. Everything’s so different, and how weird it is that his attitude should change towards me so quickly. I don’t know if I should appreciate it or still be upset with him. I know there is no use in still being angry but I feel he was unjust. 

Which then leads me to think of what sort of surprise he should have for me, last time someone had told me they had any sort of surprise for me was when my parents announced I would be married. How horrid that had turned out, surely it made sense to feel such apprehension. Perhaps he wasn’t truly over how I’d treated him and this was his way of getting back at me. No, George Pollard wouldn’t do that to me, would he?

How would I even know? I don’t know this man, which makes me even angrier. Angry that my parents had given me away to a legitimate stranger, whom of which they’ve had no intimate connection with before our wedding. They would have no way of knowing if he would treat their daughter kindly. Perhaps they didn’t care. 

He’s made a thick broth with chicken and noodles and I’m terribly impressed, it must not have been easy but he did it and he made it for me. The warmth spreads from my stomach down to my toes and I don’t feel so heavy anymore. Tired all the same but no longer heavy, and wary. 

I feel so useless being coddled as George has done, so I won’t call him into help me to the kitchen, I am a big girl. I carry myself, and my own dishes to the kitchen. It is then I find him standing in front of the stove, staring at a fixed point outside the window, probably the ocean. He’s probably anticipating the moment he gets to leave, leave me behind. I try not feel angry, or sad at this. It’s very difficult, however. 

I let out a low cough to notify him of my presence, he turns around startled and then his eyebrows knight together in confusion and I wonder for a horrid moment if I’ve done something wrong. Like I always seem to do. 

“Why didn’t you call for me? I could have retrieved your dishes for you, you needn’t have come out here.” He states his voice not as soft as before but not quite as hard as it usually is. It’s filled with confusion, and I think maybe worry. But I don’t know why, I am no different than I was yesterday, so how could he go from barely looking at me to feeling… concern?

“No matter how much you think me I child I assure you I’m not, I don’t need you to take care of me like this. I don’t need to be coddled. Sure, I’m tired but as your wife it is my job to take care of myself.” I state indignantly, I know I shouldn’t feel this way. That he’s trying to show he cares but it’s not the way of things. 

“And then what is my job? As your husband? Surely you don’t mean to care of yourself forever?” He asks, and I can’t tell if he’s getting angry or not. I just now his tone is so much tenser than it was before. 

“And why should I not be able to take care of myself?” I ask narrowing my eyes at his question whilst bringing my used dishes to the sink where they would later be washed, most likely by myself. I turn to him and he’s very close to me. I am not quite as nervous as I used to be. My stomach still churns at the thought of being so close to him but it’s so much less now. 

“Because sometimes you need help. You can’t just carry on as you do without taking a break, that’s what I am here for is it not?” He asks without taking his eyes off mine. I am taken aback at how intense his gaze is. 

“Please don’t pretend you’re here to take care of me, that we were married for any other reason than it would benefit both of our families. Please don’t act as if you have any interest in my wellbeing. You’ll give me the wrong idea when I know you can feel nothing but contempt for me. Please, I really don’t think I can take it.” I whisper, I can’t have him lead me on like this. Sure, he is my husband but who’s to say he should even stay faithful. Who’s to say he should ever even care for me? 

“I will not deny this was a union born solely of advantage, but you are my wife, are you not? Would it be so terrible for me to care for you? Perhaps I do have an interest in your wellbeing.” He says stepping closer. I don’t want him to, I want him to back up and go away. Far away from me before I let his words sink in, before I let myself believe him. 

“Yes, yes it would be so terrible because I am not worth it. Not worthy of any sort of affection you should ever happen to bare for me. You said it yourself I am a pitiful little child, I should have the worst countenance of any woman you should have ever met.” I don’t look at him, his gaze is so intense and it’s all too much for me. Too much all it once. 

“Why shouldn’t you be worth it? Even the wickedest of children deserve the affection of another.” He questions and I know he’s trying to make me feel better but he’s just making it worse, he isn’t denying that he thinks I am horrid, and, why would he? When it’s true, oh, I can barely stand this man. Who is mixing my head up in all sorts of ways. 

“Mr. Pollard with all due respect, I appreciate your sentiments but I cannot accept them as the truth. And thus, I cannot accept you, not in this way. So, forgive me if I take my leave. I shall be in our room should you happen to seek me out.” I state formally, I will give him no openings, he’s already messing with my head and I won’t allow it. It’s not fair of him to treat me in this way, it’s even crueler than when he was being outright rude to me. 

“Forgive me, if I have said something to upset you. I have spoken only what I believe to be the truth.” He says gentle, but I can hear the sigh of defeat in his voice. How he feels as if he’s lost which baffles me so because I feel as if I’ve lost too. We’re playing a game where there is no winner and we both reap the consequences. 

I retreat to our room, his promised surprise all but forgotten. Everything’s so confusing and I’m wondering how it ended up so. I didn’t mean for it get all mixed up like this, but I don’t think anyone ever means for it to happen. I dress in my night gown and brush my hair out of its intricate braids as best I can. My arms start hurting after a while so I leave it as it is, even though there a few tangles. My mother would be besides herself with horror but I just can’t bring myself to care. Even though it’s been a day it seems that was a life I lived forever ago. 

\--

The next morning, I awake alone in my room, it’s later than I usually would have awoken. I have no idea why none of the maids or even George himself didn’t wake me up. Perhaps he thought I needed sleep, I don’t know why but this irritates me. It’s not like he knew what I needed better than I did. 

I dress quickly in one of my nicer gowns, I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately and I imagined this should make me feel better. Even if it doesn’t there’s no reason I shouldn’t wear it. It’s a beautiful gown and it’s mine, I can wear whatever I please even if I don’t end up leaving home. 

I leave our room and follow the hall down to our kitchen, in which I can tell breakfast has already been served. Along the way I see a woman dressed in a dark black dress her hair pulled up tightly. So tightly it looks as if it hurts. 

“Oh good, Mrs. Pollard you’re awake. I am Elizabeth. Mr. Pollard gave us strict orders to let you sleep as long as you’d like. We’ve saved a plate for you in the dining room. Do you need help with your hair?” She is young and exuberant, probably as young as I am. She moved quickly from one subject to another, and I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would. 

“Thank you, and if you would be so kind. I have a hard time doing it with it being so long sometimes.” I state softly, I take my seat in the dining room. The table is empty and I am alone. I know I’m not truly alone, that there’s Elizabeth and four other women standing in the dining room waiting alone. Waiting for any order I might have for them. But they aren’t allowed at the table, and George isn’t here so I am as alone as ever. 

Breakfast looked lovely but I can only stomach a little bit of it, my appetite spoiled slightly at the thought of existing in this beautiful house alone. When I finish another girl clears the table. Elizabeth then takes me to my room where she sets me at my vanity. An expansive dresser with a beautiful mirror, carved immaculately just for me. 

“If I may, do you love Mr. Pollard? Not to be crass but there’s such an age difference, which is hardly uncommon. But it’s either you really love each other, or it’s been an arranged marriage, the ones those rich folks make for their kids-“Elizabeth rambles, such an odd topic of conversation, or maybe not so odd. Perhaps this is often what girls talk about, but I feel uncomfortable after only knowing this girl for barely an hour. Yet, I feel as if I can talk to her, she’s not my mother and she isn’t going to tell me what my womanly duty is. I feel as if she might listen to what I have to say.  
“Well, my parents picked him out for me, I had no say in it. I would hardly say we love each other. We barely tolerate each other as it is, but I suppose it isn’t so bad. I barely know Mr. Pollard.” There’s so much more I want to say on the subject but I know I shouldn’t, that I’d end up rambling. It’s not proper nor is it ladylike to ramble. 

“He seems to care for you, if only a little. He asked me not to wake you, if that means anything. How old are you anyways? I know I could never have my parents choose my husband for me, I’m married, a farmer. His name is William. How sweet he is too, I could never be married to someone I didn’t love. The luck of being poor I suppose.” She chuckles, it’s so weird to hear her talk so casually without fear of being corrected. It’s not so odd to love your husband, just not something you hear about often in families like mine. We marry to get wealthier, if you end up falling in love along the way even better. But it’s not a necessity. 

“I am sixteen, and honestly I have no clue what Mr. Pollard is to feel for me. He’s so confusing, we’ve been married for barely two days and I’ve seen so little of him.” I wince slightly at how tightly she pulls the braid but other than that I feel utterly detached, resigned almost. “Although I will say what I have seen of him has only ended in arguments of the worst kind. He can be so cruel, but I suppose so can I.” 

“Sixteen? You’re so young, and how old is he? My goodness!” Elizabeth exclaims, I don’t know why she finds this so odd, but I must remind myself we’ve grown up in completely different worlds. 

“Twenty and Eight. It’s not so bad, my father is almost twenty years older than my mother. She married when she was fifteen. It did take two years for her to ever have me, I suppose it was too hard for her to conceive or I am sure she’d have other kids. My father desperately wanted a boy.” I don’t know why but it’s so easy for me to talk to her, maybe it’s because I know she isn’t like my mother’s snobby friends. 

“I am to have a child as well, I know you can hardly tell. I can hardly believe it myself, that there is a little baby inside of me. Oh, how excited Will and I are. You’ll conceive then before long, won’t you?” Elizabeth asks, and I am surprised to learn that she is pregnant. I suppose it isn’t so hard to believe, but I’ve always imagined pregnant woman to be big and fat. Perhaps she will be before long. It’s odd to me that she would call her husband by an affectionate nickname when I can barely call mine by his given name. 

“No, oh no. Mr. Pollard and I haven’t even consummated our marriage.” I say in a hushed voice, my cheeks as red as ever. How foolish I feel, how foolish Mr. Pollard has made me feel once again. 

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. Why do you call him Mr. Pollard? You are married, aren’t you? Should it be so improper that you call him by his first name?” She questions, and I know it’s good-naturedly. That she isn’t intentionally trying to offend me. 

“You must understand, Elizabeth our relationships were brought on very differently. You call your husband his name affectionately, I call my husband his name to address him. I feel no affection towards him and I doubt I should ever.” I state simply. It is then that she puts the finishing touches on my braid. Oh, it does look rather pretty. 

“All done Ma’am. And I suppose you’re right.” She shrugs, her eyes softening at the difference in our circumstances. It feels awfully close to pity and for some reason that irritates me. How dare she feel pity for me? Her husband is a farmer for goodness sake, mine may not love me but at least he’s a captain.  
“Thank you, Elizabeth. It looks quite lovely. Now, do you know where Mr. Pollard has gone off to and if he should have any particular use for me?” I stand up and dust off my silky emerald gown. I feel as if I’m suffocating due to the corset but I’m so used to it, so used to the pain it bothers me but only just. 

“He said he has some business to attend to in town. Oh! That reminds me he gave me something I should give to you. He said something about wanting to give it to you last night but you were being difficult.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkle, whereas mine narrow. 

“I would hardly say I was being difficult!” I declare indignantly. “Everything I said was completely reasonable, he was the one that was saying things he didn’t mean! And how terrible it is to be so cruel as to lead your wife on in a manner as cruel as he did!” 

“Relax Mrs. Pollard, when he spoke he didn’t sound upset. I think he was jesting but only in good fun.” Elizabeth attempts to reassure me but I don’t appreciate her taking his side. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Not to worry.” She hurriedly exits the room and I’m left alone with my thoughts.

How can he jest me in good fun if he hardly knows me? How could he be so comfortable around me whereas I feel like I might get sick whenever I see him? Oh, this is all so confusing. This being married business. I let out a low sigh of relief when Elizabeth returns.

My eyes widen as I see the item she’s carrying, it’s a glass vase no doubt painted with flowers prettier than any I’ve ever seen. Flowers with colors I didn’t even know existed, I feel breathless. Even more so when I see the flowers residing in the vase. They are just exotic as the ones he gave me before but if possible even more so. They were very vibrant and I could smell them from here. I wonder where he could have possibly bought these items, the flowers looked as fresh as ever so it could have been no later than yesterday.

“Those, those are for me?” I ask stupidly my mouth agape. I know I look ridiculous but I’m so surprised. Perhaps it was his form of an apology gift. I feel bad immediately for letting him think that he needed to apologize to me. But then within the next I don’t feel bad anymore because I think of how horrid he once made me feel. 

“Of course, I don’t know any other Mrs. Fiona Pollard.” 

\--

During midafternoon, I decide I no longer wish to stay home, and with the town so close I decide to go for a stroll It’s quite lovely out and I need some time out of the house. I’ve only spent two days there but it’s felt like a lifetime. It’s so stuffy and empty. Even with Elizabeth and the other maids, I just feel lonely. 

Mr. Pollard isn’t due home until dinner so I might be able to make it back without him ever knowing I left, not that I should care if he objects to my leaving the house. It’s not fair that he would get to leave but I wouldn’t, even better if I meet him on the street. 

I plan on looking for a flower stall that might perhaps sell seeds, they don’t have to be exotic or beautiful like the ones Mr. Pollard bought for me. They can be of any kind and quality, I love them all the same. On my way, however I’m stopped by a pathetic looking little girl selling candy. I suppose I could hardly call her little, she could very well be older than me. But she’s dirty and tiny, probably from lack of money. Usually I wouldn’t stop in fear I might catch a disease but something about her makes me stop. I drop a handful of coins into her bucket and chose a few pieces of chocolate. 

She thanks me for my business, but tells me she doesn’t have enough change to repay me. I tell her I don’t mind and she can keep the money. After all it truly was nothing, I had so much money I needn’t worry about sparing a few coins. 

\--

By the time I get home dinner is done, but George still isn’t home. I suppose he has quite a bit to prepare before he departs soon. I’m still bitter he won’t take me with. When I tell Elizabeth this she tells me I should sneak on the ship anyways, that I shouldn’t let him control me. But she obviously doesn’t understand, I can’t just sneak on the ship. With that she drops it and I’m grateful. 

Soon it becomes far too late for me to justify staying up, I must tell myself I am not waiting for Mr. Pollard, that I’m just not tired. But even I know this is a lie, I can hardly keep my eyes open. So woefully I retreat to bed, why should I even care if he comes home or not? Soon he’ll be gone for a long time, and I’ll always go to bed alone. 

I quickly dress into my nightgown and take my hair out of its once glorious braids that Elizabeth had worked so hard on. I begin brushing out as much of my hair as I can but it’s so long and my arms are so tired. I feel so weak, all the time. Exhaustion engraved deep into the hollows of my bones. I’ve never been a very strong person, and when I was young I got sick easily. Not that it ever really mattered. I always had someone to do what I needed for me. 

I hear the door creak open and decide it must be Elizabeth, good, I need her to finish brushing out the rest of my hair. 

“Elizabeth, could you please brush my hair for me?” I ask without looking back, just fidgeting with them of the sleeve of my dress. She doesn’t immediately say anything but I can feel her inch closer, and then let out a very manly sigh. Wait, manly? I whip around and see a very tired looking George Pollard. Despite all of this, despite the fact that he looks as if he’s lived a lifetime in only one day he still holds a smile for me. 

“I’m not Elizabeth, and I’m quite horrid at it but I can try.” He smiles, a lift to his words. I can only stare at him, in awe and in embarrassment. It takes me a minute to realize I’m still just looking at him, neither of us moving. Me rooted by the deep intensity of his gaze. 

“Oh no, I didn’t mean…. Excuse me, I assumed you were Elizabeth. You were gone all day I didn’t know…” I trail of nervously, pulling my hair to one side and furiously combing through it. A nervous habit he evoked from me. 

“I don’t mind, let me try. If I hurt you, I’ll stop. I swear it.” He says free of the formalities all his words once held, I can’t understand this man. He looked exhausted and like he wanted nothing more than to sleep but now he was willing to comb out the long tresses of my hair. My heart warmed considerably, and it took all I had to fight the small smile threatening to grow ever present.

“If you insist, you may try.” I state and slowly turn back around. I hand him my beautifully crafted hair brush. For a while he just traces the strands with his fingers and I wonder if he’s working his way up to brushing my hair. It feels nice and I almost wish he wouldn’t stop. But then he finally drags the brush through my hair in such a gentle way I hardly feel it. I wonder if he is afraid of hurting me.

Since he’s being so gentle it takes much longer than it normally would to brush my hair but when he’s finished my hair is soft and silky. It was such a lulling interaction that I feared I would fall asleep. How embarrassing that would have been. 

George sets the brush down to the side of me, and beds down ever so slightly so his mouth is level with my air and whispers so gently, so gently I can hardly hear him, “Let me help you to bed, my dear.” His breath is hot on my ear, but not in a disagreeable manner. A shiver finds its way down the notches of my spine. Oh, how pleasing his voice is, how I once found it boring I shall not know. It is in this that finally, finally I have no sarcastic remark, or irritated quip. I am well and truly so very tired. I could only imagine how he is to feel, I am in an instant overwhelmed by how much kindness he has shown me. I must close my eyes tightly for a moment in fear I might get sick. 

“Of course.” I choke out, my voice is rough from disuse and not at all like a lady’s. But he says nothing so I very well can’t find it inside of me to care. He helps me to my feet and leads me to our bed, albeit it wasn’t a long walk, nor a particularly difficult one but the gesture was nice all the same. Once we are quite thoroughly borrowed into the satin sheets I feel the need to address him of the flowers he had purchased for me. 

“Mr. Pollard, I fear you believe you have slighted me and in this bought me such beautiful flowers. I tell you this only so you know you needn’t buy me things. I am quite content, and you have no ill will you need to amend.” He isn’t far from me so I needn’t talk very loud, my voice barely above a whisper but I know he can hear me. Even though he is rolled over in a manner I once found cold, I can tell he is taking in what I’m saying and with that I don’t quite find his mannerisms quite as cruel as I had. 

“What’s wrong with a husband buying his wife things? Flowers cost so very little, I have had no occasion as to purchase them for you other than my seeing them and thinking of your liking.” He states simply and with that I feel the conversation is over, anymore talk on it and I would be disrespecting my husband. A good wife never disrespects her husband. I have more to say, so much more to say, but he’s very tired and I don’t wish to fight with him anymore. 

Before I can decide whether what I’m about to do is a good thing or not I’ve already done it, and there’s no way to take it back. I lean over him and so quickly lay a gentle kiss onto his cheek. I can feel myself turning ever so red, he has shown me no affection in this manner since our wedding day and we very well had to kiss. I hope I did not anger him, I know he told me he wishes not to lay with me but surely a tiny little kiss isn’t so bad. 

\--

The next morning, I am roused awake by Elizabeth, George is once again gone and I find I quite miss his presence. His presence in which could one day be gentle and the next so furious and consuming that I can hardly see anything but him. Elizabeth says I am to expect visitors today or otherwise she would have let me sleep. 

Elizabeth is handsome in person, and ever so kind. She’ll be a great mother. But I can’t help but feel quite coddled by her, as if I were a child. I shouldn’t be allowed to sleep in, it isn’t a woman’s job to sleep all day while her husband is off working. I am to make something of myself, I can’t do that by sleeping. It’s not such a big deal but I can’t help but find this to be trying on my nerves. 

Elizabeth helps me into one of my simpler gowns upon my request, and then she does an even simpler braid. I am ready in no time, I don’t look as lovely or as radiant as I had yesterday but I showed hardly care. I don’t feel lovely nor do I feel radiant. My head is raging quite the war today and I fear it is a terrible time for company. But as the lady of the house I must maintain. 

I have a hard time eating breakfast but I manage, I wish so terribly to go back to bed. So much so that I almost wish Elizabeth had let me. I can’t say anything though, to say something would be to admit defeat. To show weakness and even though it’s only Elizabeth I fear she already believes me to be weak willed. 

“Mr. Henry Coffin, Mr. Pollards cousin will be joining you for lunch. Mr. Pollard made the arrangements but he said he wasn’t sure if he’d be back in time. So, it’ll be you providing the primary entertainment for him.” Elizabeth says not unkindly. It’s almost as if she can sense my underlying panic and gently squeezed my hand in a reassuring manner. 

“Oh lovely.” I mutter, I have never met anyone in George’s family save for his parents and I already believe them to think me incompetent, how horrid it would be Henry Coffin to come here be utterly unamused and report back to his parents of what a disgrace I am. In an instant I am quite angry, particularly with George for making this arrangement and then abandoning me. 

I decide the best way to go about this is to attack the beast head on, but in usual Fiona fashion I chicken out. Instead of addressing my anxiety and acting on it in a way that could be beneficial I decide to go about my day as I normally would. I attempt to embroider but my hands are so shaky I find I can hardly make a proper stitch, not to mention I drew blood more times than one. I hadn’t been this clumsy with a needle since I was little. I can’t tell if it’s from my bundle of nerves knotting up inside of me that makes me feel so violently ill or if it’s just how nervous I am. 

After a while I decide to practice on the piano forte but that goes as well as you could imagine, which in turn only frustrates me for I made so many silly mistakes. Mistakes that of a child. I am in mood to be rational in any sort of manner so I give up rather early. I decide to read for a while, there is in which no way I should possibly be able to mess up reading. 

“Mr. Henry Coffin is here Madam.” Elizabeth interrupts my reading before I even have a chance to open to the first page. I feel my heart race pick up, how could it already be lunch time? 

“Perfect. Please escort him to the drawing room and fetch the tea.” I say and my voice is far steadier than I had thought it would be, at any rate it’s far steadier than I feel. Elizabeth does as she’s told and I find a comfortable seat on one of the finer chairs. 

Of course, I am used to only the best quality items but I find that I am still at a loss when I come across such beautiful items. I have been in this house for such a short time, and this reminds me of this. When I feel as if I have known nothing but this dreaded house I find comfort in the fact that I have yet to explore the entire building, yet to know it so thoroughly.  
Elizabeth introduces Mr. Coffin as is customary and leads a rather young-looking man into the drawing room. He has shoulder length brown hair, I find it odd he should have such long hair. Not that I should, I’ve seen many a man with as long as hair as him, yet they were all poor. The last thing I expected Mr. Henry Coffin to be is poor. Yet, he doesn’t dress poor. He is in fine clothes, perhaps not as nice as George’s, but he looks well dressed all the same. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Coffin. You may take a seat if you like, I am Fiona.” I say, I try to make my voice sound warm and flowy and inviting like Elizabeth’s is. I try so hard, yet it just comes across as forced. How I wish I had her easy charm, and tender personality. Henry offers me the barest of smiles and takes a seat on the love seat opposite of me. A beautifully carved table separating us. 

“I daresay George isn’t back yet?” He asks in a cordial manner, I am surprised at how quickly he is to address this. He makes no attempt at any sort of formality. Are all men in the Pollard family so unhospitable? I know that’s not entirely fair, that George isn’t so bad but I should hardly care. He’s treated me fair worse than this and we are married. 

“No, he’s preparing for his captaincy. Or something of the sort. I make no attempt to understand his work, it isn’t my place no matter how fascinating it should be.” I reply calmly, I am doing my best to prove to him I am competent. That I wasn’t an atrocious choice for his dear cousin. 

“You find whaling fascinating?” He asked startled, even a little angry. Or maybe that’s just his voice, I haven’t yet figured him out. He doesn’t seem like he belongs on a boat, but then again neither does George and he’s captain. 

“Oh whaling? No! I find that utterly barbaric, but it is what we are to survive off of, therefore I therefore I daresay it doesn’t matter should I find it barbaric. However, I find sailing to be quite fascinating. How I long for it terribly but I know it to be improper.” I find myself thinking back to the first conversation I had with George, I think oh how this is hovering so dangerously close to that topic. I worry Henry will have the same views as George and find me very disagreeable indeed.

“Why should it be improper? Many a woman board ships daily, propriety means nothing to me nor shall it ever.” He shrugs so calmly as if it were the easiest thing in the world, of course for him it would be. He should never know the harsh judgements a woman would face if she were to ever go whaling. He should never know the consequences one would face. “

“How can you say that when you benefit so directly from it? I know that it is wrong for me to think of ever stepping foot on a boat, forever yearning for something in which I will never have. Just as I know I should never disobey or question my husband. It’s so thoroughly engrained into my mind it is all I know, all I shall ever know even when I so ardently, so desperately wish to seek something more.” I whisper, I don’t feel quite as confident as I once did. My head hurts terribly and I know not what to say to him, he guards himself rather well. 

“Perhaps, it isn’t as wrong as you believe it to be. If I know anything it’s that if you wish to go sailing as much as you say you do than I implore you to act upon it. Nobody can change the world by thinking it, actions mean so much more than words. So, if what you say is true, if you want it you would not care of the consequences. You would not care about propriety no matter how greatly you benefit from it. Nothing would stop you and you would be so carefully, and so beautifully free.” He speaks so passionately it’s hard not to get caught up in his words, in his ideas. To wish them into reality. If only I was so brave. 

“Well Mrs. Pollard, as it were your husband, my cousin George is not back yet. I had matters in which I needed to discuss solely with him. I will take up no more of your time, if you should retain anything about today I hope you remember what I’ve told you.” He states a small smile stretching across his face, I feel as if he’s shown me a great deal of kindness even if only he smiled. I find it alarming how easy it is to admire this man, this man who seems more like a boy who says things so exquisite you can wish nothing more than to seek it. How he makes you wish you could, even if you can’t. 

“I hope you have a lovely evening Mr. Coffin, I’m sorry my husband is not here, and your journey was for naught.” I hope I sound charming, and that my voice is light and airy, but I know it isn’t. I know I am just a girl rough around every edge pretending to be soft and pretty. Why I don’t know, I hardly know this man but I find him quite alluring. In this moment, I wish I would have dressed nicer, put more effort into how I should like. 

“Nonsense, Mrs. Pollard. I am glad to have met you. You’re different than I thought you’d be.” He says, his smile and tone gentle. He then bows and takes his leave. I find myself breathless, I don’t know why. I shouldn’t, I should only be attracted in this manner to my husband, but I fear I am in no manner attracted to my husband. Perhaps I am not even attracted to Henry Coffin, perhaps I just admire him. Him and his bravery and how he fears nothing, most certainly not society. 

\--

My husband returns later that night, not quite as late as last night but still late. He quickly retreats to his study, I have no chance to talk to him and I fear he is cross with me. I try to think of everything I’ve done and yet I can find anything that would warrant his anger. At least not towards me. 

I have felt wary and tired all day but now even more so, I know I should go to bed soon even though it’s not that late. But I feel weak and standing alone has taken so much out of me. I hate days like these, when I should have spent the entirety of it doing nothing but still feel so exhausted. I decide before going to bed however I should go see George, he hasn’t taken his dinner. No matter how worried and worked he should be mustn’t forget to eat. 

His door is closed and I can hear his muffled voice, how angry he sounds. It’s louder and irater than I have ever heard him. For an instant I almost fear knocking, fear talking to him when his temper should be so volatile. But I quickly decide this was a good idea, that I am only looking out for his wellbeing and if he is to be mad at me then so be it. I will have a clear conscience knowing I had attempted to bring him food, it should be no fault of mine if he is to reject it. 

I knock on the door, and despite my previous admission I can’t help but feel my pulse quicken. Heat spreads to my cheeks and suddenly, I am embarrassed and I fear so terribly what he might think of me. Why I know not. He holds this power over me, he could make me feel so miserable in one moment but delighted in the next. When he hears my knock, his voice stops abruptly and he shouts for me to come in. His voice is hoarse and I wish I would have brought him some tea and honey, how that does wonders for an irritated throat. 

“I am sorry to bother you, Mr. Pollard. But I brought you dinner, it seems you have forgotten to eat. I wish you to be as healthy as possible and for this to be achievable you mustn’t skip meals.” I state in what probably sounds matter of fact in mannerisms. Or even worse, bossy. I sincerely hope he understands I’m not trying to tell him what to do, therefore crossing a line no woman should cross when speaking to her husband, I am just trying to care for him as a wife should. 

“Of course, thank you. You may set it down right here. Now if you please.” He says his eyebrows knit tightly together his voice tight and his shoulders hunched forward quite tensely. I can tell he doesn’t wish for me to stay. Perhaps if I were anyone else I would pick up on this and I would do as I was told. But unfortunately, I am not anyone else. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Pollard if I may be so bold, but you seem to have had a bad day. Would you like to speak on it? Or your feelings?” I ask quietly not having any idea where my sudden courage should come from. He is just a man, I try to tell myself. Just a person as am I, only human. But it is in this, I know even if he is to be just a man I should have every right to fear him. More so even. Because men take what they want when they want and fear naught for the consequences, they only want more. Always a battle for what is theirs, who is stronger, and how much one can take before it goes too far. I try to tell myself that George isn’t like this, that he could never be like this but he is after all, just a man. 

“No, you may not be so bold. My day is of no concern to you. Now, if you please some of us have matters to attend to of which that are important.” He says furiously, and I reel back in shock. He has no right to be so cruel to me, what a fool he has made of me. Going on and on about how he is my husband and he should care for me, when clearly, he should not if he could so easily speak to me like this. In such a horrid manner. I was right to have guarded my emotions so closely, to have feared him so fervidly. 

“Even the strongest of men must relent sometimes, even the strongest of men must share their feelings. It’s not healthy to keep it all knotted up inside you.” I whisper my eyes downcast. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I repeat the words over and over, engrain them so deeply into my mind, into my soul, so much so that I feel no longer as if he has put the heaviest of weights on my chest. 

“What would you know of men? You are merely a child.” He hisses, I don’t know what I’ve done to anger him so. I thought I was being polite, and compassionate. I thought I was being nice and agreeable. But clearly, I had been mistaken if he is to treat me like this, like he could hardly stand to look at me. That the very sight of my face should make him sick. And how poorly I feel. 

“I wish you would not do this. By that I mean, say these horrible things to me, I’m terribly sorry if I’ve upset you, it had never been my intention. You once told me as my husband it was your job to care for me, I had only assumed that as your wife it was my job to care for you as well. If you should ever find yourself in want of any company, or just an ear to listen to your troubles, you need only ask.” It isn’t until I have left his study and found myself tangled into the soft blankets of my bed that I finally let the tears slip. They are warm against my cheeks, warm and sticky, and there are so many of them. It does nothing for my horrid headache.

\--

I’ve hardly spoken to Mr. Pollard within the past few days, I have not yet forgiven him for how he has acted but then there should be nothing to forgive. It was hardly him who had treated me poorly. I should have just let him be as he had instructed, if only I was an obedient wife like he deserved. Like he needed me to be. But I wasn’t, and so surely, he knew that. Surely, he must know that I would never be good for him in the way he needed me to be. So bent in my own ways, so caught in the tangles of my own feelings. 

We’d hardly shared more than two words with each other until late one evening he found me in the garden. I had spent all day out there tending to the plants, if I could call them that. Right now, they were just seeds embedded deep into the dirt that would turn into something beautiful. I had dedicated much of my time out here. It was hard work, very hard work and on days I felt too tired to do anything I could only stroll through the gardens and picture what it one day might be. 

I had been sitting on the same bench he once found me asleep on catching my breath, admiring the fountain when I felt his presence. How that memory was sweet to me, but I feared this one would not be. He took a seat next to me, his presence looming over the serenity and peace I had felt for such a short time. Almost as if he could break it, break the spell I had been under so quickly. I fear for this, and for such a long while he does not speak. I wonder if he should ever say anything to me, waited nervously with baited breath. 

“Mrs. Pollard.” He whispers after a long time, it’s so quiet I hardly hear him. But because the tenor of his voice contrasted so wildly with the roaring silence I caught it all the same. I prepare myself for a storm, for a war that rages so frequently and so wildly that I should be left solely in shambles. “Fiona,” He amends quickly. I sneak a glance at him and I see him swallow hard. His eyebrows knit firmly together and I wonder what he wishes to say to me. I fear it will be bad news, my heart rate quickens and my stomach churns. I feel as if I might be ill, oh how I wish he’d just say what he needs to say and be done with it. No use drawing it out like this, making me so anxious. 

“I must apologize, profusely, for my behavior.” He starts off rather weakly, his voice cracking. Even so I find him lovely, far lovelier than anyone I have ever come to meet. “It seems all I do is apologize to you, I fear you have been cheated out of a fair marriage. One in which you’d get a good husband who can… who can love you right.” His voice is soft and I have to strain to hear him. It’s gentle in the way I like to be but it feels self-deprecating almost. 

“You’re a good husband, as good as any ever – “My protest is cut short however, by the pained look on his face. I know he doesn’t quite believe me. I was never very good at lying. 

“Fiona, I wish not to be crude, but could you please just listen. You may say whatever it is you wish when I am done, but now I fear my conscience is so full and heavy I will go mad if I don’t speak of it to someone.” He’s eyes are dark and his voice is pleading. I nod silently, if he wishes to speak to me freely as I hope he is about to I am in no way going to make any sort of effort to stop him. 

“I have never captained a ship before. I have so much to learn, so much I don’t know. What good is it being twenty and eight when you still know so little, I fear the men won’t like me. I know they won’t respect me. I try to tell myself this is what I deserve, that it’s in my blood. But I have done nothing to deserve this title. Men break their backs, but I, I sit and I receive. Still I wish to make my father as proud as ever. To be the best captain Nantucket has ever seen. But how can I do that when I am so unsure? When I haven’t even left but my authority is already being challenged. By some off islander whose name means nothing? If this is his opinion of me than what should the others think of me?” He breaths and I can tell he is haunted, that there is an agony deep inside of him and everything’s so very wound up. 

“I was born into this life expected to do great things, to make my family richer to make good on my name. But what if I can’t be who they need, what if, most of all, I am exactly who I thought I was?” His voice cracks again and this time I don’t find it lovely, I find it sad and I find it familiar. There is a long stretch of silence and I believe he is done speaking to me. So ever so gently I pick up his hands and lace them with mine. This causes him to look at me with his intense eyes always so vibrant. Even now, even when he’s so close to falling apart. 

“I know how you feel.” I begin and I can tell he doesn’t believe me by how he recoils away from me. I try to tell myself that I should not be offended, that this is a man who couldn’t ever possibly fathom experiencing the same things as a woman. “No, really. Because I was born a girl I can never make my father proud, I can never be what he needs. The best thing I can do for my family is marry a man of good social standing. Which I have done, and now the only thing I can do, the only thing I know how to do is be a wife. I’m not even good at it, I doubt I should ever be. But truly all I’ve wanted to do is please you, and it seems we’re so far away from each other. Even now.” I let out a long sigh and it isn’t graceful or proper but I can hardly help it.

“You sir, should fear nothing. Nothing at all for I know you will do your family proud. Your father especially, you will go aboard your ship and you will be a captain. Well and truly and your first mate, whoever he may be will regret his words so horrendously. You have nothing to fear, even so you shall have my respect always. Even if it never ends up meaning anything to you.” I look him straight in the face, my usual fear and timidity gone. I feel silly having to tell him all of this, it is odd to me that he doesn’t already know it. That he should have to be told when I’ve thought it always so obvious. 

I find myself comparing him to his cousin Henry Coffin, where Henry had an honest charm and underlying motives George was different. He was harsh, and sometimes cruel but he and I are the same. Exactly the same, but because of it so different. Henry and I bare no similarities, where I once thought I should admire him, I realize I admire George far greater. 

He lets go of my hand and for a moment I worry I’ve said the wrong thing, I begin second guessing myself, always second guessing myself. Nervous in the way only George could make me feel. He rests his rough and calloused hand on my cheek. I begin blushing at the simple yet such tender gesture. I rest my hand atop his and bury my face deep into it. He smiles gently at me and I feel myself go even redder, never have I seen him smile so earnestly. So openly and I feel in this we are no longer enemies, but friends. 

I am content like this, this small but intimate gesture. Until he lifts my chin slightly and our eyes meet. He pulls me closer than I ever remember being and he plants a firm kiss onto my lips. I am so taken aback by this. It only takes a moment, however, before my instincts take over and I know exactly what to do. How different this kiss was from our first. When it had just felt like skin on skin and so uncomfortable. 

Now my stomach coiled dangerously into different knots and I felt my heart beat rapidly, faster than I feel it’s ever gone. But as quickly as it began, and just as I began getting used to his touch, and his warmth he pulled away. His eyes clouded with desire, his chest rising and falling hastily. I feel cold almost immediately, that out of everything was quite possibly the worst feeling, how his absence stunned me so. 

“I’m sorry. I got carried away, forgive me.” He breaths but I can’t really focus on anything, all I see are his lips and all I can remember is how they once felt on mine and how different it was to anything I’ve ever felt. I knew he regretted it, and this hurt I think more than anything he could ever say to me. Knowing that this, this feeling is quite possibly the best I’ve ever felt in my entire life and he didn’t even mean for it to happen. I could tell he thought it was a mistake, but I don’t want it to be, I want him to have done it and never regret it. 

\--

George leaves tomorrow, in some ways it hasn’t quite settled in. That he should be gone for a year, perhaps longer. That he could be gone and perhaps he might not come back. I know I shouldn’t think that, that it is terrible and treacherous of me to ever even assume he could be lost at sea. But I’ve heard stories of ships that set sail but didn’t come back. 

I have felt so on edge since we’ve shared something so intimate as a kiss, I have told no one, not even Elizabeth. Whom of which I had found myself telling her everything, for some reason I feel embarrassed. That I should hold on so desperately to something he should deem a mistake. I’ve replayed it in my head over and over, I fear I am nothing but a trite little girl. Who swoons at the first sign of affection, how pathetic he must think of me. 

I still can’t find it in me to believe it fair that Mr. Pollard should get to leave, to leave me behind. How I hate he is to find an adventure without me. I know I should not consider this an adventure, that it is a job, but I can see it in no other light. I long for the sea so ardently, I think back to what Henry once told me. How if I longed for something as truly as I said I did I would not let anything stop me, least of all propriety. 

I think of Elizabeth who told me to sneak on the ship, who was so confident in her answer. I wonder if she was jesting me, for if we both left she’d have no one to serve, no job. With a child on the way surely, she needed the money. So why would she tell me to leave everything behind, to go with and why should I put anymore thought into it? Why should I think on it, why have her words not left me as they should have? Why do I think I might do it? 

George would be right peeved with me, he is already peeved with me. So then what would be the point? All this back and forth? My pretending to be a good wife, him pretending to be a husband that cares? All of these confusing feelings, it’s so much, and so hard for me to handle. We aren’t enemies but we are hardly friends, so if I am to miserable forever and we are to be stuck in this limbo where no one caves but no wins then why shouldn’t I have an adventure. If he is to hate me forever than at least I should get something out of it. 

Once I had decided that it was happening I needed to work out how I would go about it, it would be quite embarrassing to get caught trying to sneak onto the ship and sent home. How humiliating, now I had to approach this with as much care and thought as I could. Not that I’d ever been particularly known for my intellect. 

\--

That night when we are eating dinner George and I still don’t speak, we haven’t spoken in two days, save for the casual greeting. I don’t quite know what to say to him and I doubt he knows what to say to me. I can tell he has been tense lately. Tenser than usual because he’s still unsure, and I know I didn’t reassure him in the way he needed. I fear he regrets so deeply that kiss that he should find no reason to ever speak to me again. How lonely that would be, how lonely indeed. 

“Mr. Pollard, since you are leaving tomorrow I don’t think I can stay in this house alone. Would you care ever so much if I were to go back to my parents’ house for a few nights?” The silence is so opaque and thick, I worry he will tell me no. And he would every right to, especially because of what I’m intending to do, because of how deceitful I’m being. It is wrong to lie to your husband, I hope he cannot tell, I’ve always been so horrid at lying. 

“Do you miss your family, then?” He asks, his voice sounded so sonorous I felt it resonant deep in my subconscious. I felt so apprehensive, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking and I was so sure he would catch me lying. 

“No, I don’t think I do.” I whisper, I decide not to lie to him so completely, best he know how I truly feel. 

“Then why do you wish to go home?” His eyebrows knit together as they do when he’s deep in thought.

“It’s not that I wish to go home, as much as it is, with all due respect I don’t wish to be alone.” I shrug, moving pieces of uneaten food around my plate with my fork unable to look at him. 

“Do not lie to me!” He yells and slams his fork down, it startles me so. I set my fork down and look up at him, his shoulders tight with tension. I felt my pulse quicken as it does, whether it was out of fear or not, I do not know. “Why do you wish to go home? It’s me, of course, you can’t stand being married to such a disagreeable man? Well you can’t go home. I won’t allow it. This is your home.”

So that’s what he thinks, that I wish to leave because of him. But if that were true then I would have no need to leave for he’s leaving me tomorrow, I want to point this out to him but I fear what he’d say to me. He’s already in such a terrible mood, my defiance would not make him any keener to send me home and it was imperative that he did. 

“You mistake me, Mr. Pollard. Surely you know how dreadful it will be to stay in this big house all alone. With no one to keep me company but myself, and it shall be that way for quite some time now. One gets quite tired of being alone after a while, as you know.” I say my voice steady and I can hardly keep the spite from seeping it. He treats me so horridly, sometimes. Nevermind the fact that I plan to undermine his every decision, but that wouldn’t have had to have been the case had he had just agreed to let me come with. 

“Forgive me, Mrs. Pollard if I find that quite difficult to believe. You will excuse me.” He grumbles his eyes downcast looking everywhere, but nowhere. 

“You haven’t yet answered me.” I quip just as he is about to exit the room, he stops midstride. I fear he won’t answer me and keep walking, as he probably should. As a man does when his wife is being a nuisance. 

“You may go home. It is of no consequence to me should you wish to stay there, either.” He barks and I know he means it, that if I should go home he should hardly care if I come back. But how fair is that when he plans to leave me? To leave me all alone, and he doesn’t even care. He feels nothing for me and I feel nothing for him in return. 

“Very well.” I know I should stop talking, that I got what I wanted and a good wife, a normal wife would have stopped. Left the matter alone, wouldn’t have challenged her husband but I find I don’t very well care what a good wife should or shouldn’t do anymore. I suspect whoever made up these rules and the good wife etiquette handbook hadn’t been married to George Pollard. 

He says nothing and exits the room, I don’t miss the way he balls up his fist as if he wishes to say something but then drops it as if he had changed his mind. Then I am surrounded by silence, complete and utter silence. Elizabeth had been having troubles with her pregnancy so she’s been staying at home these past few days. I haven’t decided to befriend any of the other maids, not that they aren’t worth befriending just that I have grown so accustomed to Elizabeth in such a short while it would almost feel like a betrayal.

\--

I pack everything I need, or what I think I might need. I’ve never been on a ship before and I’ve heard men could be gone for six years, so I pack what I deem necessary. Nothing too fancy, I don’t want to ruin my dresses. Once I have packed everything I deem worthy I set out on a path to a local inn. I can’t go to my parents’ house, they wouldn’t let me leave or worse they’d send me back home. Or worse they’d tell George I was on my way home. They don’t wish to see me, I’ve fulfilled my purpose and that is all. 

I would be worried of what the townspeople might say, but not very many know George and I are even married. And the ones who do aren’t going to be found in the likes of an inn, not when they have such beautiful homes. I feel I am quite safe, after all I thought on what I would do for such a long time. It would be an insult to my intelligence should anything happen, or should I have made any sort of miscalculation. 

The inn is filthy, and not at all up to my usual standards and all I have to soothe myself with is that I will only be here for the night. That I needn’t worry because the sun will rise soon enough and I’ll have created a path for myself so different than any I had ever dreamed. I will be exactly where I wish to be, and everything shall be as perfect as ever. Nevermind the fact that my husband can barely stand the sight of me. 

I ate before I left so I don’t have to worry about consuming any of the food that can in no way be healthy for you, I don’t really want to get into the bed. It won’t be as soft as George and I’s, and who knows how many have slept in it. Who’s to know if the sheets are even cleaned? Oh goodness gracious, what if the sheets are dirty? Perhaps I didn’t think this plan out quite as well as I thought I had. 

But then that would be admitting defeat and I am not staying is this disgusting little inn to have it all be for nothing. It can’t be for nothing, I won’t let it be. So, I bottle up my pride and suffer through it all, through this horrid experience in the bed that feels worse than anything I had ever slept on. I suppose I should get used to it considering from here on out I will be sleeping on a ship, but that’s only if everything goes well. 

I really hope everything goes as planned or at the very least okay, I just want this to be the best experience of my life. If only because it’s the only experience I will have that is mine, that I created. One that wasn’t set up for me. I did as Henry Coffin suggested, I took my own fate into my hands and now I shall see where it takes me. I suppose I haven’t truly succeeded yet, and it most certainly doesn’t feel like I have succeeded when I am stuck laying in this vile bed. I should be careful, I’ve never been truly superstitious but how horrid it would be to jinx myself. 

I have a difficult time sleeping, I toss and turn and I wonder if what I’m doing is right. Perhaps it isn’t, perhaps it’s wrong but is it right for George to leave me all alone? To be all by myself, forever? I have no siblings I grew up alone, and I fear so terribly that I will spend the rest of my life alone. Yes, my lying and trickery is most certainly not right but neither is what he’s doing. 

I know the dreadful saying two wrongs don’t make a right, and perhaps they don’t but I’m not trying to make things right. I’m not looking for a way out or a way to make anything better, just bearable. Just an adventure. I am young, young as I’ll ever be I can’t waste my youth prepping to be a house wife. I’ve spent my whole life prepping and a whole lot of good that’s done. 

I feel as if I’ve been awake for ages, even though I know it’s only been a few hours since the sun has set. I try to tell myself I have an early day tomorrow and I’m going to want to get as much asleep as I can, especially because I am prone to terrible bouts of fatigue. I pray that tomorrow is a good day for me and that everything goes smoothly. 

\--

The next morning, I am not at my best, I still feel tired despite the amount of sleep I got. But I must power through it if I wish to ever be more than I am. I refuse to eat the disgusting slop this rotten inn tries to pass as food, I pay my fee and I’m off. 

For a while I regret packing so much, it’s horribly heavy and I’m so out of breath. So out of breath and tired, I really hope I don’t find George somewhere in town. God, what would I say to him? I still don’t know what I’ll say to him when I see him on the boat, when he realizes what I’ve done and that I’ve lied to him. 

I am prepared for him to be cross with me, I would be fooling myself to think he wouldn’t be. But I’m prepared for this, prepared to sacrifice any sort of friendship George and I could have forged if only for a moment, one wild and careless moment I am free. Free of who I am and one with the sea. Not defined as a woman, or a wife, but a person on a boat in the middle of the ocean. I won’t matter out there, it’s so big and there’s so much more going on. 

It's early, so early that not many people are up and about yet. George’s ship isn’t supposed to leave until noon, so I believe I have plenty of time before I should fear getting caught. When I reach The Essex for a moment all I can do is stare. I know absolutely nothing about boats but goodness was it a sight. 

I have come so far, and yet still I question myself. Doubt whether or not this is what I should be doing. I have two options. I can cement my fate and my future by boarding or I can go home, go home and feel shame and be alone. I know at once which choice I’m going to make. 

I climb aboard the ship, there are already men aboard but not many. None that look very important, just people putting the last touches on the ship I think. Others carrying barrels of what could only be food or fresh water. I am surprised at how easy it is to board the ship, no one stops me. I think everything is going quite perfectly until I realize I have no idea where I am going or where anything belongs. In one moment of bold courage I ask a sorry looking man where the captains quarters are. 

“A ship is no place for a lady, what are you wanting with the captain’s quarters anyway?” He asks his voice scratchy, just like I imagine his beard and face to be. He is horrendous but I mustn’t judge him, yet I can’t help but fear him. Fear the way his beady eyes look at me, something about it was almost predatory. 

“I am the captain’s wife. Mrs. Pollard, I have brought him some things.” I state as gracefully and in as dignified a manner as any I can conjure. It’s not that I enjoy lying, just that it’s necessary in a world like this. To get what you want you have to take it or be born in such a wealthy family that it’s handed to you. 

I’ve always gotten what I wanted, always. No matter what, until now. Until I wanted something impossible, but here I am. Taking what I deserve. George was made captain because he was born into the right family. As was I, too bad I wasn’t born a man. Not that I would ever want to be a man, now that I think about it. How greasy and gross that existence would be. No, I am quite glad I was born a lady, just in that I wish I had the privileges a man was born with. 

“What does that say about our captain that he sends his pretty little wife to do his work for him, even worse alone?” He asks but I can tell it’s not a question, I don’t like his tone of voice and I feel scared. I don’t know what I was thinking, that this would be some grand adventure. That everything would be perfect and that I could just avoid sleazy men like this. 

“If you must know he hasn’t sent me to do anything, as far as he knows I am back at home. It’s a surprise. One that I should be very disappointed indeed if it were to be spoiled. Now, if you please, will you show me to the captain’s quarters?” I glare in a manner that I hope is intimidating, I know I am being spiteful and I relish in it. I hope he fears me, fears me and what I can do to him. If he doesn’t than he is a fool. 

He nods his head and offers to carry my trunk for me, which despite everything I am quite grateful for. It was rather heavy. He leaves me at the door, bidding his goodbye and it can’t come soon enough. How rotten that man was. I push open the door and find a rather bare room. But it’s a room on a ship and so I can hardly see fit to complain. I’ve heard horror stories in which men had to share beds. 

I push my trunk in the corner and for the first time I truly feel the difference of walking on land and on sea, of course I know I am not really walking on the sea. That I’m on a boat that’s floating in the sea, but by default I am technically walking on the sea. Oh, how close I am. I am on a ship, a ship and no one can make me get off of it. No one, not George Pollard, not any man ever. 

I don’t quite know what to do know however, I’ve made it this far and now I just need to wait for the ship to set sail, I suppose. I decide I must wait a while. Best if I can go unnoticed until night when we’ve already put too many miles in between us and Nantucket. When it will be far too late to turn back. I don’t imagine George will have any reason for coming down to his room so early in the day. 

So, I dig in my trunk and pull out a book I had been meaning to read. A book of the sea, I take a seat on George’s bed and flip the book open. It’s not as uncomfortable as I had imagined. There’s not too much room, probably because it was made with one person in mind not two. I do hope George lets me sleep in his room with him. It would be improper for me to sleep near any of those other men as I am married. No there is no reason we shouldn’t share a room, unless he is so cross with me he condemns me to sleep somewhere else. I don’t know where he’d force me to sleep, but wherever it is I doubt it would be comfy. 

I try to push these bad thoughts out of my mind, the odds are it won’t ever come to that. I make myself busy with reading and before I know it the boat lurches forward. I long so desperately to go to the deck, to watch the waves crash against the boat. To wave goodbye to the people, to see what the beginning of an adventure looks like. 

I can feel the boat rocking, not violently, but rocking all the same. I feel the waves crash against the ship wildly, pushing it along. I may not be able to see it, but I can feel it and that’s almost as good. Just more proof of the adventure I am creating for myself. But oh, how I long to see us depart, see Nantucket fading from view leaving everything behind. Leaving propriety, and parents who only use you to better their fortune behind.

Instead I am stuck down in the captain’s quarters. It is drab, and boring and I have a long way to go before I can make myself know. Before I can let him know I am here. Despite all this talking to myself, and building it up and promising that this was all worth it I can’t help but think of how George shall react. 

It’s only reasonable for a wife to wonder how her husband should feel when he finds out she blatantly disobeyed him, even worse lied to him and snuck aboard a ship she was never meant to set foot on. But if anything, he was asking for it, being so bloody cruel all the time. Talking about how he should care for me but always yelling at me as if I am the problem. 

I think he takes his anger out on me because I am closest, because I am the easiest target. It’s not fair, but it’s what men do. And no matter how hard I tried to tell myself, how long and how fervently I promised myself that George wasn’t like that the sooner I came to the realization that he was. That he is exactly like that. And it’s not his fault, it could never be his fault. It was how he was raised, how all men of his stature and fortune and name were raised. 

However, I am not one to talk about rights and wrongs. I was born with just as silver a spoon in my mouth. Got everything I wanted whenever I wanted, I’ve always had people to take care of me. I will never have to work a day in my life, but in return I must sacrifice my freedom. My taste for adventure. I must sacrifice any sort of love that I could have found in my hopeless marriage. Just as George had. George will always have something to take his anger out on, and as long as I am his wife, it is my job to be whatever he needs me to be. 

\--

I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve been on the boat, I’ve lost all track of time and at one point I had even fallen asleep. But when I woke I felt so nauseous, if only because this was my first time ever on a boat. I didn’t know the boat would rock so much, that it swayed as it did. I don’t know what I expected.

Because I am still unaware of what time it is and how far away we are from Nantucket I can’t risk going upstairs, however I refuse to get sick everywhere. So, I set out in search of an empty bucket that doesn’t appear to be in use. It’s harder than I thought, after a while though I find a small little bucket and profusely vomit in it. It’s so disgusting and it tastes absolutely atrocious. 

I had not known this would be a part of my sailing, that this sickness that embedded its way deep into the hollows of my stomach and made a home there would stay with me. For the first time, I boarded the ship I regret it, oh, how I detest getting sick. It’s quite possibly the worst feeling in the world and I hate getting sick. How some people can stand it I shall never know. 

I was also feeling quite hungry, as I had yet to have eaten today. Which is my own fault and a small price to pay for what could be the greatest adventure of my life. I could hear footsteps and voice from everywhere, sometimes it was faded other times it was quite loud. I was so on edge the entire time, I had no clue what time it was and thus how far away from Nantucket we were. 

I just hoped if anyone were to come down that it is George, and that we can discuss the situation calmly and thus I can save myself from being embarrassed in front of a whole lot of men. Not that it should really matter, not terribly. When we get back to Nantucket it’s not as if I should ever see them again, nor should they have any bearing on my social standing. I just don’t want to be humiliated, it’s bad enough when George humiliates me just because he can. 

I understand that I would I did was wrong and by all intents and purposes I’m very sure I do deserver to be humiliated, but I am a woman. I’ve always been told I’m weaker than a man, inferior. How can you blame me? When I don’t want to be laughed at by filthy men who are better than me because of their gender. When they have nothing to their name, not a penny but they believe themselves to be better. It’s horrendous. 

Just then I hear heavy footsteps and I worry, I hope it’s George but all at once I hope it isn’t. I want it to be him because if it isn’t I shall be horrible shamed, more so than I already am. But I’m not ready for it to be him. I don’t know what I’d say to him. I’m so nervous, I feel my heart speed up and I inch away from the door. There aren’t very many places to go and certainly nowhere to hide. I hold my breath and time seems to slow down as I wait for whoever is out there to come in. 

I knew this moment would come, I knew it and quite frankly it will probably be the hardest part of my entire journey. This moment right here, and so I sit down on his bed and wait patiently. I need to face this head on, best to face fear as straight faced as you can. I pretend to study the hem of my dress and I wonder what’s taking him so long. The shuffling of feet become louder and I hold my breath in anticipation. 

Within an instant the door is open and we’ve arrived, my heart is beating as quick as ever it should and at once I have come face to face with my very own husband George Pollard. He doesn’t notice me at first, or maybe he does but he’s just so surprised he does a double take. He blinks rapidly and recoils, almost as if my presence alone had pushed him out of the room. I send him a nervous smile, and he’s looking at me as if I’m an apparition. I very well may be with how hungry I am. 

“Oh hello Mr. Pollard. Lovely bed you have here.” I say cheekily, half because I really really don’t know what to do and half because this is all so delicious. As much as I feared this moment I am also relishing in it, in which I have left George Pollard the one and only in the flesh speechless. He hesitates for a moment and he just gapes, now it’s his turn to be embarrassed. I shall remember this moment forever, this moment in which I had felt I had a leg up on him, even if really, I hadn’t.  
“W-what, w-what are in gods name are you doing here?” He asks as finally the initial shock wears off. He steps more in to the room and shuts the door hastily behind him, his eyebrows knight firmly together and his voices raises. Not in octaves, but in intensity. I am not scared though, I don’t think I can be. At least not right now, not when adrenaline so fresh and courageous is pumping through my blood rapidly. Igniting my veins on fire and taking me with it. I could do anything right now, I feel so alive. 

“Well I knew certainly you would never let me on the ship, so I took advice from you dear cousin Henry Coffin.” I say rather smugly, it’s almost as if I’ve forgotten my place. I think that I might have. If a wife wasn’t supposed to speak to her husband like this, a passenger was most certainly not allowed to speak to the captain like this. But I don’t very well care. “I am not going to rot away in that house while you’re off experiencing life. Having an adventure. How is that fair?” I spit at him, my voice lowering in pitch and my eyes darken. 

“You think this is an adventure? That what I’m doing, what we’re all doing is an adventure? Some fun little game!?” He shouts and I stare at him unflinchingly, he is speaking to me as if I’m a child. I do not care for this, not one bit. “This is how we make our fortune, this is where we make our money. This isn’t an adventure, an experience. This is a job. How is it fair that you had the opportunity to stay at home and not lift a single finger? You needn’t have worked for any of it, it would have been handed to you as everything is. But no, you deceived me and boarded a boat you have no business on!” He scowls and I feel like a child being reprimanded by a parent. 

“You’re not my father okay, you don’t have to go on and on about how useless I am. I get it, what I did may not have been right. But there was nothing right about me staying in your fancy little house with your fancy little maids all by myself. All alone, do you know what it’s like to be lonely?” I am not as angry anymore, or maybe I am just as angry as I’ve ever been. I’m just tired, tired from not eating and because I’ve been exhausted forever, it’s trembling ache always at the hollow center of my chest. 

“This is not about me! This is about you lying, you’re a child. A goddamn child and I just I c-can’t. You, you disgrace the name Pollard. You don’t even know me so please, spare us all the trouble of pretending you do. That you have any idea of how I’m feeling. Fiona do you even think? Ever?” He growls, and everything’s kind of wearing off now. The surprise of the moment, and now all I’m feeling is ashamed. He gets quieter as he trails off so I wonder if he’s feeling the same thing, ashamed of getting such a disobedient wife. Ashamed for having ever married me. 

“I did think. I planned this whole thing, I just I couldn’t stay there. That’s not my home, I yearned for something more. You have to understand what it’s like to yearn for something? Surely, you’ve wanted something so terribly you did whatever you needed to? George, this was never about deceiving you, or hurting you. This was about me, being free.” I whisper no longer looking at him, I can’t bare to see his disappointment. This is my fault, worst of all, of everything. This is my fault and I don’t regret it, I knew very well this would happened. Had predicted it. 

For a moment, my mind goes back to that night in the garden when he’d kissed me so suddenly and I thought everything was going to be okay, was going to perfect from now and forever. It was the one time he’d ever showed me any sort of affection, gave me any sign he’d wanted me as his wife. And now I know if he had the opportunity he would never have married me. If he’d known what he knows now he would have went from someone else. Probably would’ve went for a woman with less wealth than myself it meant never having to deal with me. A child. 

“Yes, yes I have.” He sighs and takes a seat next to me, the bed dips from his weight and I feel nauseous. More nauseas than I already feel, but I haven’t eaten today so there wouldn’t be a whole lot that would come up, which is worse, so much worse. “I never wanted to be captain, I just I want to make my father proud. I want to do good on his name, which meant captaining a ship when I know I’m not ready. Marrying a woman when I know she’s not ready. All because it was such perfect timing. I know you are young, a child. And I am a grown man, I know how hard this must be for you. But surely you know it’s just as hard for me. Even if it doesn’t seem it.” 

When he calls me a child this time I don’t feel the string that usually comes with it, he’s not insulting me. He’s talking to me, speaking to me. I know he’s still cross with me, but he’s speaking to me as a person. Not a wife, not a child, but as an equal. Even if he is captain. I don’t know why but I feel forlorn. Mostly because of his admission, his not wanting to have married me, because I wasn’t ready. He knew I wasn’t ready and I doubt I should ever be ready. I know he regrets marrying me, I know it. 

“I am not trying to get in your way Mr. Pollard. I’m just trying to live, live so freely and I promise you I will not get in your way. Not once and if I should you can keep me down in your quarters for the duration of the trip. I shall be exemplary on all accounts, heeding your every order. When we get home, I will be a model wife, I just need this. One last hurrah, or I suppose a first hurrah. To prepare me.” I look at him now, pleadingly because I know my fate is in his hands. I know it’s very well too soon to turn back, that that couldn’t even be a possibility now. For better or for worse I was a part of this ship’s crew now. 

For a long moment he is silent, I wish he would say something. Anything to ease the queasiness working it’s way throughout my entire body. But he is not looking at me as if he wishes to comfort me, he is not looking at me as if I am anything to him. I tell myself this does not bother me, I tell myself that I knew this is what I was sacrificing. But I still feel hollow and sad and nothing inside of me feels whole like I though it would. Like it was supposed to. 

“Mr. Pollard, I am not a good wife.” I say my voice cutting through the tense silence. He does not look up, doesn’t look at me at all. I wonder what he could be thinking. “But I feared so ardently, so fervently that if I didn’t board your ship I would derive no happiness from existence ever. I am young, young as I can be to start an adventure of this sort.” 

“You mean to say, you would be so unhappy, so horridly unhappy with me you think this is the only time you should ever feel anything?” He whispers, his eyes glued to his hands as he fidgets with them, I have never seen him so unconfident. So entirely forlorn, it is quite a sight. Much different from the usual assured man who knew who he was, what he was, and what he wanted and how he could get it. 

“That isn’t to discredit you, I mean no slight against you Mr. Pollard. That is to say I know you shall never feel anything but the dullest roar of contempt for me. I had to make a sacrifice, because I know I shall die in that house. In that perfectly beautiful house all by myself never knowing anyone and nobody ever knowing me.”


End file.
